


Selfish

by piipedreams



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, idk it’s a thing i wrote for class, its like baz’s perspective throughout the years of him being in love w simon, just read it, n then some
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piipedreams/pseuds/piipedreams
Summary: Snow laughs at something, and I decide that I am doomed.——————AKA baz bein all emo over simon





	Selfish

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo uwu
> 
> i wrote this stupid fic for class n it’s kinda eh but i think it’s worth the read? i guess? idk 
> 
> thank u 2 my bud jay 4 giving me the idea for the beginning of it n my bud suki 4 being my beta n baz Nd simon for being the cutest fuckin couple ever

It was during a football match that I realized I love Simon.

 

It hit me, quite literally. One second I was locking eyes with Snow from across the field, and the next I was on my knees, clutching my stomach, where the ball had slammed into me.

 

_ No,  _ I had thought, not even processing the fact that I was right in the middle of a football match,  _ No. I cannot be in love with that idiot. There is no way. _

 

And yet, seeing Snow’s face light up with laughter after I fell  _ almost _ made the pain vanish—if it weren’t for someone kicking me in the head right after.

 

Aleister Crowley, what a life.

 

————-

 

Snow came to watch me. Play football. 

 

He probably didn’t come to watch me. To see if I’m plotting, maybe, but not to watch me. But I can imagine.

 

I can imagine, because that’s all I  _ can  _ do. Because it will never happen. Because he will never feel anything for me other than hatred—and I refuse to let him. It’s too dangerous. It doesn’t matter how I feel, because I’d rather go to hell and back a hundred times before I hurt Snow. 

 

(Not that I don’t. We bicker constantly. I doubt he takes anything I say to heart, but knowing him and his stupidly fragile heart, there is a possibility. I hate thinking about it. I’m selfish.)

 

——————

  
  


There are times where I wish the Crucible had made anyone else my roommate— _ anyone.  _ Living and sleeping with the one person I can’t stand being around is horrid. 

 

Sometimes, I wish I could wake up and ask him if he slept well. If he had any good dreams. If he wanted to go to the main hall with me. I’d get him scones, and we’d eat together. He wouldn’t hate me. I wouldn’t hate him.

 

I’m selfish.

 

————

 

I think Snow knows what I am.

 

I can’t even admit it to myself. If mother knew…

 

If she hadn’t died protecting me, she would have killed me after finding out I got Turned. She’d do the right thing.

 

I’m a vampire. A despicable monster. I shouldn’t be here.

 

I’m a coward. (And Snow knows.)

 

—————

 

Snow snores. 

 

It’s a soft sound, a white noise for me to fall asleep to. (I never dream of things as peaceful as Snow’s face when he’s asleep. I wonder if he knows how vulnerable he looks.)

 

I could bite him. At night. While he’s sleeping. I won’t, not ever, but I could.

 

And that scares me more than I’m willing to admit.

 

—————-

  
  


I’ve always wanted to kiss Snow’s moles.

 

He has so many of them, all over his face. Neck, too. I wonder if he knows how crazy they drive me. Crowley, if he knew.

 

If he knew, he’d surely hate me. More than he does now, even. I don’t want to think about it, about how disgusted he’d be, how he’d surely ignore the Anathema and strangle me on the spot. Or maybe I’d strangle him, just to get it over with.

 

I want to kill him.

 

I want to kiss him.

 

I’m so, so selfish.

 

—————

 

Snow comes back from break a starved boy.

 

He looks too thin, always. I wonder where the Mage sends him every summer.

 

Penelope and him stuff themselves in the main hall. Snow eats so much. I smile a little to myself. He doesn’t notice any of the crumbs around his mouth. I want to waltz over and wipe them off.

 

He’d break my hand if I tried that.

 

I sigh. 

 

Snow laughs at something, and I decide that I am doomed.

 

—————

 

We’re sitting in our room, doing work, when Snow looks at me.

 

I scowl back, of course.

 

“What?” I ask, shooting him a glare.

 

He recoils. “Nothing,” he hesitates, then adds, “You’re just… acting differently. Distant. It’s—It’s not my place, but, uh—”

 

“Use your words, Snow.” I interrupt. 

 

He frowns at me. I want to press the fold between his eyebrows. “I don’t know! Are you, like, plotting against me?” 

 

I scoff. “Of course I am. What do you think I do in my spare time, Snow?” I start, sarcastically, “My entire life revolves around you. I have no hobbies of my own. I spend every minute of my life thinking about how I’m going to get revenge on you one day. Everything is about you,” I pause for a breath, “Are you happy?” 

 

(I try not to think about how almost everything I said was true.)

 

He sighs, resigned. 

 

I look away.

 

“I was gonna ask if you’re okay,” he mutters, a few moments later. My heart stops. “But clearly, you’re still a git.” 

 

I don’t reply. I don’t trust my voice.

 

I can feel his eyes on me. I swallow.

 

He picks up his books, and leaves. I can breathe again. 

 

Selfish, selfish.

 

—————

 

Snow is the opposite of winter.

 

He’s the sun in the middle of July. He’s the warm breeze in the air of a sunny August day. He’s the smoke from barbecues in late June. He is so  _ bright _ .

 

So, so bright.

 

And I am going to burn.

 

————

 

“Baz, you’re flammable.” Snow huffs.

 

“Most people are.” I reply coolly.

 

Snow growls, and I chuckle. I put out the fire in my hand, sighing. 

 

Sometimes, I like to stare at it. The flame calms me, puts me at ease. Snow just makes everything worse.

 

“I’m careful. Don’t worry your abnormally tiny head.” 

 

“I’m not worried about you.” he retorts, voice cold.

 

I pretend that doesn’t sting.

 

“The feeling is mutual, Snow.”

 

I get up and leave.

 

Selfish.

 

—————

 

When Snow saw me with Agatha, I was pleased. I wanted to make him jealous. 

 

When he vanished right in front of me, along with Penelope, my heart dropped.

 

I can’t stop replying that moment in my head.

 

He came back. Broken, hurt, and dull, but he came back. And then the Mage sent him home for summer. I haven’t seen him since, and it’s driving me crazy.

 

I know he’s safe. I can feel it; his magic, it’s so strong. He’s still burning bright. But I’m scared.

 

The coffin is dark. I’m slipping away. The blood the numpties gave me was disgusting and muddy.

 

I need to see him again. I need to see his stupid face and feel his stupid smokey magic and be near his stupid warmth.

 

I’m so cold.

 

The name Snow has never felt so ironic.

 

————

 

Seeing Snow’s face after only being able to imagine it felt so  _ good. _

 

I’ll never admit it, but he keeps me sane. Around him, I feel safe. Something about the earthy, smokey smell of his overflowing magic keeps me grounded.

 

He can never know.

 

————

 

Truce. 

 

It’s the best I can get from him, so I’ll take it. 

 

Working together is so much better than fighting.

 

_ And Simon feels the same way.  _

 

_ ——— _

 

He can be such a prat sometimes, that gorgeous idiot.

 

I slept better than I ever have in my own home with Simon there with me. 

 

It almost felt like we were back at Watford, still enemies, falling asleep to the rise and fall of each other’s chests. And yet, this is different.

 

This feels more intimate. 

 

I’m lying awake. Snow stirs. My heart skips a beat.

 

I want to be selfish.

 

————

 

Snow’s kisses are nothing like his magic. Nothing like him.

 

He’s slow, careful, quiet. 

 

The smoke is ever-present. I taste it in my mouth, smell it around me,  _ feel it above me.  _ It surrounds me in the best way.

 

He’s not scared of me. He takes his cross off.

 

I feel like I’m flying. 

 

———

 

My home becoming one of the Humdrum’s dead spots was not on my bucket list.

 

Neither was making Simon leave, but if I didn’t want him to be personally ripped apart by my parents, he had to.

 

But I’ll find him.

 

I always do.

 

————

 

I’m not good at comforting people, but right now, I really wish that was a skill my parents had blessed me with. I can’t stand seeing Snow like this.

 

He’s so broken. I want to fix him. I want him to speak again. I miss his voice. I miss his magic.

 

It’s all gone. The smoke—I can’t feel it anymore. 

 

The Humdrum is gone, too. And… and the Mage.

 

I know the Mage was practically Simon’s father. Simon killed the only father figure in his life. He  _ killed  _ the Mage.

 

(Well, Bunce did, but.)

 

I wish I could say I regret it all.

 

I don’t.

 

The Mage is gone, Simon is crying, and Agatha has left us. But the rest of the world is safe.

 

And maybe, just maybe, this is the end.

 

Maybe, we’ll all end up okay.

 

Maybe, we’ll finally get our happily ever after.

 

Is that selfish?

 

————

 

Life at Watford was bland. Boring. Without Simon, the sun was a little duller. 

 

I’m glad it’s all done with, now. I can be with Simon. And Penelope. And we can pretend that all of this is okay.

 

That we don’t wake up screaming every night. That I stay over at Penelope and Simon’s apartment more often than not, because I can’t sleep alone. That Agatha wants nothing to do with us.

 

We hang onto every single shred of normalcy, because that’s all we  _ can  _ do. Because all Simon has left is Penelope and I, and we’re going to do anything and everything to protect him.

 

I don’t know if any of us will ever get a good night’s sleep ever again. 

 

But I’m going to drink my pumpkin mocha breve. And I’m going to tease Penelope. I’m going to kiss Simon. I’m going to enjoy every second of every day, because I don’t know when this will be ripped away from me. 

 

We’re just kids. We deserve to be happy. Simon, especially.

 

We deserve to be selfish.

 

————

 

I don’t call Simon by his first name out loud very often. I want to, but I’m not ready. I don’t think he is, either.

 

We’re fine like this. Too much change isn’t good for us. That’s what my therapist said; I’m seeing one now. So is Snow. I wasn’t open to the idea at all, at first, but Bunce convinced me.

 

(She isn’t seeing one. Only Snow and I are. Penelope claims that she doesn’t need one. She just rants to me at night. I don’t mind it—I like talking to her. Not that I would ever,  _ ever  _ admit that.)

 

I think Simon is getting more comfortable, now. He likes to cuddle. I indulge him, of course, but the wings and tail are really a nuisance. 

 

I like to hold him. I like to sit on the sofa and watch the oddly entertaining house hunting TV shows that Bunce insists we watch, and drink tea with Simon snoring on my shoulder. I like to chat with Bunce about the things she’s studying in university. I like to whisper sweet nothings to Simon as he falls asleep.

 

I really like this. The three of us. I don’t know what I’d do without Simon, or even Penelope. 

 

We might even get our happily ever after. Or together ever after. As long as I get an ever after, with them, I’ll be fine.

 

Because I can finally be selfish. 


End file.
